Listen to that Mando Wind, Satine Whispers Low
by Citizenjess
Summary: Qui-Gon observes the hot mess that is Obitine, and then leaves a lasting legacy - aka a paper trail - behind to commemorate it forever, much to Obi-Wan's likewise eternal chagrin.


I think this was only supposed to be this short, crack 'fic-type thing, and then it actually became a legitimate story somehow in its own right ... though still probably crack 'fic at heart, NGL.

Summary: Qui-Gon observes the hot mess that is Obitine, and then leaves a lasting legacy - aka a paper trail - behind to commemorate it forever, much to Obi-Wan's likewise eternal chagrin. Specifically references canon described in the "Duchess of Mandalore" arc from season two of_Clone Wars_, and also goes a way towards attempting to parse out some other little tidbits here and there, albeit, er, well, again, it's crack 'fic, guys. Dedicated to Sarah for just being Sarah, and also Jen, Fass, Estora, Rin, and Cara, because it seems like everyone could use a hug right about now, but Qui-Gon being a huge dick (heh, yeah, I went there, I'M SORRY THAT LIAM NEESON'S DONG LOOKS LIKE A BABY'S ARM HOLDING AN APPLE, I AM NOT HIS MAKER) is funnier, yeah? Title comes from High Adventure's song, "Mandalore Rain"; it's also kind of a joke because, um, I'm pretty sure Satine doesn't know how to whisper, kthx. Rated PG-13 for sexual implications and Star Wars swears (thanks, Wookieepedia!).

* * *

**Listen to that Mando Wind, Satine Whispers Low**

* * *

He didn't like her.

Really, he didn't. She was rude to him, for one thing, always eyeing him with a disdainful smirk or a mask of sheer scorn across her otherwise pretty, if somewhat aristocratic for Obi-Wan's tastes, features. It was as though his very presence commanded her disrespect, and given their respective social statuses ('some more respectable than others,' Obi-Wan thought privately to himself on more than one occasion), it was telling that Satine, Duchess of Mandalore, and currently on the run from her own people, who had also apparently decided that she was too snobby and indifferent to their needs to keep her on her throne - 'hence her need for Jedi bodyguards in the first place,' Obi-Wan thought sometimes, and always with gritted teeth and furiously knitted brows - seemed to go out of her way to treat the younger of her two Force-sensitive protectors the way one might a Nekk puppy with a penchant for soiling on very expensive carpet. At least when Siri Tachi had insulted him, it was justified - perhaps she had trounced him thoroughly during sparring practice, and mild barbs (or even punches to the groin) were her way of bragging. But then, Siri had made it all too clear, and all too recently, at that, that she, too, found Obi-Wan generally useless beyond acknowledgment for the purposes of snark, so perhaps it was symptomatic of him more than it was, well, anyone of the female persuasion.

In any case, given that the places in which they camped out these days had little in the way of creature comforts, let alone any sort of carpet, expensive or otherwise, Satine seemed to garner overt justification for her poor treatment of Obi-Wan from their current predicament. It wouldn't have been awful otherwise, Obi-Wan had decided at one point; as a Jedi, he was used to 'roughing it,' and unlike Satine, Qui-Gon often proved to be a gentle (and quiet) companion amidst even the harshest terrain. In fact, a year-long mission hiding out amidst Mandalore's many nooks and crannies to protect a Duchess would have been positively delightful, if not for the Duchess herself. However, Satine's presence was a constant and unwavering fact, and after a while, even the most patient Jedi apprentice began to lose the distinct air of calm that, up until that point, he had also presumed to be constant and unwavering.

On some days, a particular incident would rankle Satine - the weather would keep them inside of a dank cave for longer than they might otherwise prefer or something. On other days, however, it seemed as though Obi-Wan's very presence could set her off. "I don't suppose they teach basic table manners or anything at that Temple of yours," she noted one morning, eyeing the Padawan dubiously while he surreptitiously (or so he had thought, anyway) wiped at a bit of juice from the citrus-y piece of fruit he was currently trying to eat as delicately as possible (and failing, apparently) from the corner of his mouth.

Swallowing, he attempted to keep his cool. "Pardon?" he asked, and Satine, perched daintily on a large rock, scowled at him now, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Apparently they don't encourage you to use plates, or cutlery, for that matter," she said nastily, eyes blazing.

"It's a piece of fruit!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, but took the half-eaten treat/meal away from his mouth nonetheless, shamed into abandoning it. From above, Satine's eyes blazed blue fire. "I don't suppose you would like one of your own," he proffered, preparing his body to slide into a standing position at a moment's notice in case, on the off chance her cranky nature on this particular morning was caused largely by hunger, he could go and fetch one for her.

This preparation, however, also seemed to be the wrong reaction. "I won't eat anything that those hands have touched," she glowered, and Obi-Wan physically resisted the urge to wipe his palms on the legs of his leggings. With a sigh, he stood up anyways.

"Master Qui-Gon actually procured them. I'll go find him to give you one." He had just about made it blissfully out of the tiny cave in which they were perched when he heard an unnecessarily strangled cry.

"And you're just going to LEAVE me here, ALONE?!" Spinning around, in case Satine was, in fact, being suddenly pursued by a rabid gundark or something to that effect, Obi-Wan fixed her with a tired frown. "What would you have me do ..." he began to say, and then spotted Qui-Gon rounding the corner along the outside of the cave. "Master, you're back," he announced, far too relieved for it not to be suspicious.

For his part, Qui-Gon Jinn was a tactful being, and so even though it was rather obvious that his Padawan and the de-throned Duchess of Mandalore had been at one another's throats yet again, his calm veneer and passive expression did not indicate that he had noticed anything of the sort. If Obi-Wan wasn't currently clenching sticky-looking fists nearly behind his back in silent, seething anger, he more than likely would have felt the slightest trickle of bemusement through their training bond. As it was, the young man simply stood there while Qui-Gon reached into the rough-looking, half-full bag he was carrying and plucked out a couple more of the native fruits, which he appeared to briefly consider tossing underhandedly at Satine before gracefully walking them over to her instead. "Thank you," she said frostily, and Obi-Wan continued to watch as the Duchess proceeded to eat one of the fruits in precisely the same fashion as he had, wiping daintily at her mouth with the corner of her thumb after every bite or so. Biting back a sigh, he watched Qui-Gon dump the rest of the sack into a corner and prop himself cross-legged on the ground.

The Jedi Master then pulled a small, brown, animal hide-covered notebook from the folds of his cloak, and uncapped the pen tucked within its tiny spirals. Qui-Gon often tugged the notebook from the confines of his uniform during spots of downtime, and Obi-Wan just presumed he was using it to record information about local flora and fauna, suspicious tracks in a given area, and such, "Is the area still peaceable, Master?" Obi-Wan queried politely, and Qui-Gon looked up quickly - too quickly, like he was guilty - from what appeared to be some sort of doodle.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he hedged, and then coughed once or twice. "I didn't hear you just now."

Obi-Wan blinked. "I just asked if there was anything we should be aware of in the immediate vicinity, Master; big animals, man. Poisonous plants?"

He watched Qui-Gon's shoulders slump in what appeared, for whatever reason, to be visible relief. "Nothing out of the ordinary," the Jedi Master crooned, and with that, he returned to whatever he was drawing, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in a sign of visible concentration.

On the other side of the nature-made shelter from the elements, the Duchess sighed loudly once more. "I need SOMEBODY to accompany me to the stream to wash my hands and face," she inferred haughtily, and when Qui-Gon acted as though he had not heard anything, Obi-Wan swallowed back a retort and stood, brushing himself off briefly and then offering his own hand to Satine. "I hope you're kidding," the young woman very nearly spat. "The germs from the fruit alone, not to MENTION all of the bacteria you've assuredly picked up from poor personal sanitation and the dirt you've just wiped off of your robes-"

"All right, then, come on." Obi-Wan began walking towards the entrance of the cave, honestly not caring at that point whether Satine followed him or not; after a beat, she reluctantly trotted along after him, however, leaving Qui-Gon as the space's sole occupant for the time being. "Day 108," he wrote above the picture he'd just finished drawing and the two-sentence description scribbled beneath it. "Surprising to no one, they're at it again ..."

* * *

The day things came to a head began auspiciously enough, and then had taken a turn for the worse. Obi-Wan was never quite certain of his misstep, but had nonetheless seemed to draw Satine's ire early, sometime before he had attempted to serve her caf (which she preferred over tea, which he found to be something of a travesty, though he kept the opinion largely to himself), and was now attempting, through mincing, deferential gestures and speech, to make amends. At first, it had seemed to work: "Impressive," Satine commented when Obi-Wan set a plate being used as a makeshift serving tray on a tall tree trunk doubling as a table. He watched Satine pluck one of the two cups off of the plate and take a cautious sniff near the rim before sipping and, finally, swallowing a small mouthful. "Very impressive," she added after a long pause, and Obi-Wan felt a genuine smile creep along the corners of his mouth for the first time in Force knew how long.

And then, of course, everything went to seed quite fantastically. Pirouetting a little in place, Obi-Wan heard the loud gasp from Satine, and even saw her hands fly up in front of her pretty face in horror, several seconds before he realized what the reaction was about. "You stepped on it," she gasped disbelievingly, one slim, well-manicured (because she still spent hours poring over her nails and hands and lamenting the lack of opportunity to wear her signature headdresses and designer clothing, of course) finger pointing shakily at the ground.

"I don't-" Obi-Wan began, and then he saw it: An insect, not much bigger than his littlest toe, now lying sort of sideways and twitching a little, as if for dramatic effect, where Obi-Wan had (accidentally, for what it was worth) stepped on it.

It wasn't worth much, apparently. "Reckless!" Satine was openly sobbing now, fat, wet tears pouring down her face as she clutched at a small handkerchief that had, quite frankly, seen better days, though Obi-Wan at least had the good sense not to tell her that. He tried to apologize, but it came out rather feebly anyways and also, did not seem to do a lick of good. "Clumsy oaf," the Duchess gasped, and Obi-Wan saw red.

"All right, well, enjoy your breakfast. I do hope everything digests properly." Fists clenched, he left the enclave they had been perched in for roughly a week at that point, passing Qui-Gon along the way, who seemed to be contemplating chopping wood from a felled tree. He looked up when Obi-Wan walked past him, more than likely due to a combination of his third apprentice's turgid energy wafting angrily at him through the Force, and also because Obi-Wan was pretty much stomping by that point. "Is the Duchess in there alone?" Qui-Gon asked, and Obi-Wan seemed to visibly attempt to calm himself before answering.

"Yes, Master." He wet his lips. "She ... we had a verbal altercation" - was it him, or did Qui-Gon seemed almost to snicker just then? It was probably him - "and I thought it best to collect myself before returning to her side." He searched Qui-Gon's face for acceptance of this plan and found none. "Master, you don't understand, she doesn't treat you the same way, like an incredibly stupid youngling, or worse, an Agricorps flunkee." At this, he could see the older man begin to look annoyed, but was on a roll now, unable to stop. "She's rude, and condescending, and, and ... she's a feleking harpy, Master!" he gasped. "The only reason she's still alive is because we're out here risking our necks for her day after day, and she can't even lower herself to speak to me like a sentient being! I'm not even asking for her to be grateful, I just wish she'd stop making it so overtly clear that she loathes my very existence!"

Qui-Gon seemed to be working hard to find his center within the Living Force. "Obi-Wan," he began, but the younger man was turned away slightly now, no longer listening to reason or logic. "I, I HATE her!" he bit out; and then, in a lower voice, "kriffing schutta."

"PADAWAN." He hadn't even been aware that his apprentice knew how to call someone a 'slut' in the native language for Twi'leks; knowledge aside, however, it was yet his job as Obi-Wan's Master to ensure that using it to refer to the Duchess was a behavior to be quickly and thoroughly eradicated.

To his credit, Obi-Wan looked rather quickly chagrined, though it was likely due more to Qui-Gon's sharp tone of voice (not typical for the otherwise gentle giant of a man, like a noble bantha that could also wield a lightsaber) than anything. Nonetheless, Qui-Gon's expression was similarly no-nonsense, and Obi-Wan quickly bowed his head, ready for whatever penance his Master decided to bestow. "I think bringing in firewood is now an Obi-Wan job, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's tone was dulcet and friendly, though the undercurrent of disappointment was unmistakable. "But before you do that, your apology to the Duchess awaits."

At this, Obi-Wan's head snapped up. "Apologize? Me? To her?" When Qui-Gon's face did not break into an easy smile, however, like the time he'd told Obi-Wan he had actually bought the magical Force-enhanced rock around which their entire relationship as Master and Padawan was based from a trinket store whose target demographic was teenage girls and that it wasn't actually Force-sensitive at all, he sighed heavily, and then turned to trudge back inside the enclave. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, and even managed to bow a little. He didn't see Qui-Gon's hand move almost automatically to the folds of his cloak, and more specifically, to the tiny notebook-and-pen, or the wide smirk on the older man's face as he scribbled down a few words and then repocketed the entire thing.

Satine, for her part, had stopped crying, at least, though when she looked up at Obi-Wan's entrance, the skin beneath her wide, watery blue eyes was puffy and pink. "I suppose you've reconsidered your abandonment of me?" she asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, letting the words pass through him like how he thought a lightsaber might slice through her face - or his, for that matter.

In any case, the young man spread his arms and hands in a show of deference. "I apologize for my unjust murder of that poor creature," Obi-Wan said, feeling rather dramatic, though Satine seemed to be impressed. "In the future, I shall remember to step more carefully."

"See that you do." It was as much forgiveness as she was going to offer, and so Obi-Wan took it. Sitting across from the Duchess on a makeshift seat of his own, now, he picked up the second cup of caf and swirled it around absently; then, deciding he'd drank much worse than a cold beverage when it should have been hot, took a long gulp ... and then promptly spat it back into the cup. "Is there ... did you put the dead bug in here?!" he asked, though the evidence - both the insect itself, floating solidly at the top of his regurgitated drink, as well as the horrid smile now encapsulating Satine's otherwise fair features - made the question rather unnecessary.

Eyes narrowed in cruel satisfaction, Satine glowered at him, raising her chin high in the air. "Now you shall reap what you have sown!" she announced triumphantly, but Obi-Wan, still clutching his throat and willing himself not to be ill, just gawked at her.

"How does making me almost eat a dead bug teach me a lesson about not accidentally stepping on bugs?"

The Duchess continued to look incensed. "Do you dare to question me?!" she squawked heatedly, but Obi-Wan, well past the point of caring by now, simply shrugged. "I suppose I do," he said, and even yawned a little for good measure. Watching her stand and stalk out of this week's cave, to see Satine driven out, for once, was gratifying, and Obi-Wan felt a sense of calm wash over him even as he suspected that there would be consequences yet for his continued inability to do right by the Duchess. His calm came largely out of spite, after all, and such hatred was of the Dark Side ... though in his defense, well, just because he couldn't say that she was a 'kriffing schutta' out loud, it didn't mean he wasn't able to think it very hard.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he dumped both cups of caf onto the ground, glowering at the now completely turgid bug corpse that landed near his boot. "So uncivilized," he muttered, and then enjoyed roughly an hour more of blissful quietude before Satine got chased and very nearly mauled by a herd of wild strill.

* * *

The inception of an Open Mic Night of sorts at the Jedi Temple was in direct response to the increased stress and hardship to the Order due to the Clone Wars, and after the third monthly rotation or so, the event had become relatively popular. On this particular evening, Obi-Wan sat at a fully-stocked table accompanied by, among others, Master Windu and Yoda, as well as Senator Bail Organa and Padme Amidala. Next to Padme, Anakin Skywalker's Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, perched, currently attempting to appeal a point of some contention to the members of the Council in attendance. (Anakin had showed up with Padme, but had ducked out at one point or another, hand-waving his charge's concern that he would miss the beginning of the show with the promise that he would be "back in a minute, don't have a litter of puuri pittins, Snips.") "I'm just sayin'," she frowned at present, bony elbows pressing into the table slightly as she leaned forward, "if Jedi apprentices are old enough to die for the Republic, they should totally be considered old enough to be served alcohol in the Core Worlds."

"Hmm," Master Yoda said, though whether this was his way of pretending that he was actually considering her reasoned request or simply making noise for the sake of making noise, it was difficult to tell. Beside him, Windu drummed his fingertips on the table. "It's an interesting request -" he began, but all of the sudden, a persistent tapping on a wine glass ("see, that could have been me emptying some of that cheapzinfandel into my gullet!" Ahsoka stage-whispered before Obi-Wan shushed her discreetly) near the stage (a portion of the Temple cafeteria had been transformed into a performance venue for the evening), drawing everyone's attention.

The owner of the wine glass was Kit Fisto, whose large, dark, almond-shaped eyes gleamed cheerfully even in the dimly lit room. "Our first act of the night is a first-timer at Temple Open Mic Night, though I have a feeling he won't disappoint." The Force rippled warningly just before the premiere speaker's name was called, and Obi-Wan had just managed to mutter an "oh, no ..." when: "Anakin Skywalker!" Kit Fisto called, and there was a smattering of applause. Several necks craned, including, much to his own chagrin, Obi-Wan's, as all eyes came to rest on the Chosen One and tabloid-hailed Hero of the Republic, who made a show of straddling the tall stool in the center of the stage, and then flipped his hair for good measure. "He's not a bloody rock star," Obi-Wan muttered, but unfortunately, he was generally alone in his disgruntlement - even Bail seemed to be eyeing him with at least vague interest.

"How are you all doing tonight?" Anakin's voice was low and throaty and probably slurring from not just a few Tatooine Sunburns, his signature drink, which he'd taught Master Plo Koon, doubling tonight as the Temple bartender, how to make, and then had tipped him a few times to get him to try a few more times, for the sake of practicing until it had been perfected, Obi-Wan was sure. Functional alcoholism aside, Anakin had everyone's eye, including his former Master's, when he suddenly tugged a small, and suddenly, painfully familiar book out of the folds of his cloak.

"Oh, no," Obi-Wan said again, and then Anakin propped open Qui-Gon's innocuous-looking, and now, somewhat frayed notebook to which he'd been practically surgically attached during their extended mission to Mandalore, some two decades or more ago now, and began to read it aloud in a dramatic monotone.

"'Day 63: Satine called Obi-Wan an 'uncultured cur' for daring to sneeze in her presence and then wiping his hands on his outer tunics. If possible, my apprentice looks even more like he's going to crap a flawless gem from his rectum than usual as a result. Made him do 50 push-ups and sit-ups for mouthing an obscenity when the Duchess' back was turned as punishment.'"

Around Obi-Wan, people started to titter; a few looked at him in askance, even pity, though at his immediate table, most of the expressions ranged from bemusement (Windu) to sheer delight (Ahsoka). "Ha, it's nice to know even you had an awkward phase, Master Kenobi," the teenage Togruta said sassily, albeit sweetly, though this didn't deter anyone else from continuing to smirk at him, nor did it stop Anakin from reciting what Obi-Wan now could tell were meticulously bookmarked passages from Qui-Gon's private record of Obi-Wan's year-long Mandalorian affair, in all of its glory and failure alike. "'Day 123,'" Anakin read now, gesticulating on stage for good measure, "pretty sure someone got an angry handjob this morning, or Obi-Wan slipped in something rather foul on the way back from the stream - oh, the irony. It smelled weird in our shelter all day, in any case.'" There was a page turn, and then: "Oh, this is a personal favorite of mine, listen to this: 'Day 293: He dropped her. He seriously kriffing dropped her off of a cliff. Had to check to make sure my Life Day had not passed without my knowledge, and worried briefly about early-onset senility. Turns out, Obi-Wan is just very, very clumsy. Managed to keep a straight face nonetheless while patching up the Duchess. She's going to have that scar forever, though.'"

"Okay, that's enough. That's enough now, Anakin," Obi-Wan frowned, standing in place and cutting his own former apprentice off in mid-recitation of Qui-Gon's handwritten list of "10 Reasons Why It'd Be Hilarious If Obi-Wan and Satine Turned Out to be Siblings." Amidst yet more chortling, he attempted to retain what little dignity remained. "There's little to be gained by demoralizing one of the war's most prominent generals," he said aloud, schooling his face to appear passive and, he hoped, pleasant. "These Open Mic Nights are, after all, meant to be harmless entertainment and nothing more, Anakin."

Gracefully, Anakin wound his legs around the stool some more, sitting up even straighter, and then shaking the little book in protest. "It's not demoralizing, Master," he said smoothly, apparently having prepared ahead of time for Obi-Wan's distaste in his choice of reading material that evening, and then some. "It's sage wisdom from one no longer with us any longer ... well, kind of, anyway." Before anyone could ask what he meant by that precisely, the young man's hand clutched at his chest dramatically. "Qui-Gon Jinn was a good, fair, dedicated Jedi," he proclaimed, and Obi-Wan was damned to see at least a couple of (female) Jedi nearer to the stage actually swoon at this. "Are you denying that his inscribed words are priceless, Master?"

"No, I'm not," Obi-Wan countered immediately, wondering when Anakin had gone from speaking such poor Basic that Bail Organa had once bet him he couldn't pass the boy off as a dignitary on an undercover mission (he had won that bet, as a matter of fact, the 20-minute rimjob that was his prize nearly as sweet a victory as the fact that Anakin hadn't thrown up once during that entire party, on himself or even in the punch bowl) to being able to rather formidably hold his own against the galaxy-wide-touted Negotiator in a battle of verbalized wit. Still, Obi-Wan wasn't about to give up so easily: "If Qui-Gon's words are so precious, however, they should be preserved in the Archives under careful supervision by Madam Nu, not bandied about in such a childish fashion."

He thought he'd won, but Anakin, as Anakin was wont to do, surprised him once more: "Madam Nu said it was okay!" As if on cue, the elderly Archivist seemed to suddenly make her presence known, giving a small wave to yet more polite applause. The attention then returned to the current argument brewing between Anakin and Obi-Wan, and with Anakin prepared to rattle off more speculation about Obi-Wan's early manhood and the subsequent sex life therein ("'I wonder if he gets an erection when she yells at him now ...'"), Obi-Wan decided at present that he had had enough. "Give me the book, Anakin," he said suddenly, and his former apprentice blinked at him in vague shock. "Master, it's really rude of you to keep interrupting," the young man whined, but even with Master Windu's concerned "yeah, Obi-Wan, it kind of is" sounding in the background, it wasn't enough to keep the Soresu Master's butthurt at bay this time.

"Fine," Anakin said, sensing that this was becoming a Thing. "Come and get it." He stuck the small tome inside of his pants, then, and watched as Obi-Wan advanced yet closer towards the stage. "Don't think I won't" was probably the last thing he said before he was tackled (by Ahsoka first, perhaps, even if it was difficult to know for sure), although some spectators may well have sworn that Anakin's snide retort of "your move, old man" was the last coherent utterance before the room at large descended into chaos.

When it was finally over, Obi-Wan's robes were torn, and Anakin had a purpling gash across his eye that would, to Obi-Wan's darkest satisfaction, become a scar in its own right (though probably it wouldn't be any sort of deterrent to Anakin's getting ass; quite the opposite, really, he suspected sourly - Padme had even dabbed at it with her handkerchief and then looked for all the world as though she was prepared to sit on the young man's face right then and there ... which of course, there would probably be a willing audience for). On a brighter note, the diary was now safely back in the hands - well, small claws, anyways - of Master Yoda, in whose robes Obi-Wan had no desire to be.

"Our next speaker this evening is Master Garen Muln, whose essay, 'My Friend Oafy-Wan,' won honorable mention in a poetry-and-prose contest at the Coruscant Public Library in the age five-to-twelve-years category!" Kit Fisto's head tentacles swiveled and curled lightly around themselves as he spoke, and as Obi-Wan's agemate, Garen, took the makeshift stage, clutching something in one hand that looked like a dirty bar napkin, the Negotiator found that he at last had nothing more to say and collapsed grumpily in his seat anew.

Beside him, Anakin grinned crookedly, and then patted him on the shoulder a couple of times. "I didn't know Garen wrote poetry," he said brightly, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, first out of force of habit (Anakin had that kind of effect on people, really), and then for a different purpose entirely. "I hope you're happy," he said, seemingly to no one in particular, but if anyone had asked him at that moment, he would have sworn the Force had just twinkled at him in response.


End file.
